Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Thetas. The taller one on the right with the slinky navy and orange dress—school colors, of course—honey-colored hair, and blinding red lipstick is the one he escorted all over campus in November and December. Dani. On the nights when I was weak after we broke up, I’d stalk his IG and see pics she’d posted: them at Cadillac’s, in the student center, at a party, in his dorm. I walked a narrow tightrope last fall, avoiding places I thought they might be, going straight to class and then coming right back home.
He never sought me out. Not one time.
“Dani is the one on the right. She’s…uh…with him a lot,” I tell the girl, my voice carefully even.
I’m doing good. I really am. Much better than last fall.
I don’t know the girl on the left, but she’s beautiful, her white-blonde hair straight and silky. Like Dani, she’s dressed in a low-cut, skimpy dress—nothing wrong with that. I have a plethora of low-cut dresses, and I’ve been known to flaunt what I have. Hello, mohair dress.
“Candy with an ‘i’,” Margo says, offering her name, and I guess I must have asked for it. She knows everyone on campus.
My eyes widen at Margo. “Dani and Candi? Stop it. Are they related?”
“Nope. Just Thetas. Nice, right?”
“Flipping fantastic,” I mutter.
In typical college fashion, there’s raging competition between us and the Thetas. They’re the beautiful, rich, party girl sorority while Chi-Os are known for being brainy and attractive in a warm, fuzzy kind of way.
“They’re like…pretty, sleek greyhounds,” Margo says with a little growl, her gaze on the girls.
“Guess that makes us adorable spaniels,” I say and Margo laughs.
Random Girl gives us a wary look, and I realize I’d forgotten she was standing there.
“Ignore us. You should totally take a shot at Blaze if micro-penises are your thing.” The words, again, are devoid of emotion. I am over him. I swear. The fact that my chest is heavy right now does not matter. Not one bit.
“Micro-penis?” Her eyes flare.
“It’s a joke,” I say dryly. “Go get him. Please.” As in, please get out of my sight because I can’t say one more word about him.
She gives me a weird look and then a rushed bye as she heads their way.
The entire place is still whistling and cheering. The applause goes on for an absurdly long time, and my body grows stiffer with each passing moment.
“STL,” I murmur. Stayed too long.
Forget facing him. I’d rather touch a hundred wolf spiders on my pillow while having a root canal with no anesthesia than see him with Dani.
I snatch up my purse and try to figure out the best path out of the bar without catching Blaze’s eye. I scan the room as I break down how to get through the crowd and reach the emergency exit near the restrooms. Sure, the alarm will go off, but who’d notice with all the happy times going on?
A warm tingle goes down my neck, and I freeze. Moving slowly, I turn my head and look back in his direction.
Yeah. He’s found me. Cold blue eyes tangle with my brown ones, and all those pep talks I gave myself on the drive over flee my mind.
The crowd falls away, and it’s just me and him in the room. Three months since we were face to face, yet it feels like a million years since I saw him.
For some reason, my mind goes back to that night freshman year at the toga party, the one he and I never discussed, those long passionate kisses and how electrifying they were. His mouth on mine was like falling and flying at the same time.
I haven’t kissed a man on the mouth since.
“Never breaking my rules again,” I mutter under my breath, my gaze lingering on the curve of his lips.
Darkness flits across his face as he takes me in, not a normal expression for him, and the air grows hot around me. The seconds tick by as he pauses, drops his waving hand, and searches my face. A scowl appears on his brow, crinkling his forehead. Icy eyes glitter at me, long and hard, gazing over the heads of the people jostling to get close to him. My hand holding the glass trembles.
Do not be affected by the intensity of those eyes. Don’t. You. Dare.
Right.
Maybe it’s the tequila finally kicking in or the painful new shoes or the fact that my skin is itchy as hell and probably beet red as well underneath the mohair, but something insane hits, and I give him my own Miss American wave—only it’s really a one-finger salute. It’s a whole new level of juvenile, completely childish and revealing. I’m bitter, it screams.
I hate you is scrawled across my face.
Same is what he’s thinking if the tightening of his lips is anything to go on.